


Pretty People

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Justice League (2017), The Batman (Movie 2021)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, First Dance, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oswald is a sad bby bird, School Dances, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans Edward Nygma, Trans Male Character, and Edward wants to fix that, because no matter what 'verse we're in NO ONE hurts Edward's birdie, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: At his first college formal, junior poli-sci major Oswald Cobblepot sits alone in a corner by the refreshment table, watching in envy and longing as his attractive friends all pair off and find love. He's used to being the third wheel, but tonight it hurts even more, because tonight he so badly hoped for a miracle...but what he doesn't know is that a pretty boy in a glittery green suit has an eye on him, and Oswald is about to get the happily-ever-after he's always wanted.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Victor Stone (mentioned), Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	Pretty People

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies ^_^ This fic is a straight up example of "sad Cupcake wanted to feel better so she projected her insecurities onto her favorite characters" self-indulgence, so fair warning: there are lots of Sad Feels in this one.
> 
> TWs for body image/weight issues/food issues (it's implied, but not outright stated or confirmed, that bby college!Oswald has some form of binge eating disorder), and all the self-esteem problems and negative self-talk that comes with, so if eating disorders or any kind of food/weight issues are problematic for you, pls proceed with caution <3 <3
> 
> Also mind the tags -- there is indeed trans!Edward in this fic as well, and while it's mentioned in passing and there's no deep-dive into dysphoria, there is one brief mention of transphobia (coming from his parents) and the implication that someone (NOT Oswald) fetishizes him rather than caring about him as a person. Again, this is all super brief, but just a heads up that it *does* come up.
> 
> On that note, happy reading! ^_^ Thanks as always to redreaper86, whose fics were my Riddlebird gateway drug ;)
> 
>   
> 

_ What the hell are you doing here, you idiot? Did you learn nothing from prom night? You don’t get a fairytale ending. Why do you ever think otherwise? _

Oswald looks around the room and squirms a little, the knot of his tie threatening to choke him. The Gotham University conference room has been transformed into a sparkly fall wonderland, decorated with little white holiday lights and silk autumn leaf garlands, glitter shining on the dance floor as clusters of handsome fraternity boys dance with their pretty sorority-girl dates. Some of the students are still at the white-skirted tables, snuggled up with their dates or taking selfies with their friends. Along the periphery some of the more daring students take nips from contraband flasks or munch on weed-laced gummy bears. All happy, all having a good time.

And then there’s Oswald: alone. Sitting on the steps by himself and sulking, wishing he could’ve found a date,  _ any _ date, to his first college formal. He got away with skipping his freshman and sophomore dances, but this time his best friend, fellow junior and psych major Harley, insisted the two of them go “in a group” with a few friends, most of whom they’ve known since high school. She promised to stick with him, as did Ivy, Selina, Jonathan, and Flash (okay,  _ Barry, _ but no one fucking calls him that because…come on), but now…

Now Ivy is dirty dancing with a beautiful senior girl named Diana (who looks like an actual Greek goddess in that blue dress,  _ it’s not fair),  _ and Selina is holding court amidst a group of utterly charmed freshmen, and Harley and Jonathan have gone off somewhere to make out (they’re not dating, they’re just bored and horny, and isn’t  _ that _ a mood), and Flash has been sitting at an empty table with varsity QB Victor Stone for the last hour. All while Oswald hides in the corner like a wallflower, angry at all the people in the room who are better looking than him. So: everyone.

The problem, Oswald thinks unhappily, is that every single one of his friends is a solid 9.5 and he is…a 3. Maybe a 4 on a  _ really _ good day. He’s not the Pale Man from  _ Pan’s Labyrinth, _ he hasn’t quite descended to  _ that _ level of unfuckability just yet, but let’s be real, no one wants to “Netflix and chill” with a guy whose face is the texture of scrambled egg. And he’s accepted that he is not genetically blessed (not  _ okay _ with it, no, but  _ accepted _ it) but it does twist the knife that all his friends look like they’ve waltzed out of an eHarmony commercial while he looks like the “before” photo in a plastic surgeon’s office.

In high school, man, he  _ tried. _ Flirted with guys and girls alike, tried so hard to find someone who was willing to look past his face and like him for qualities he offered beyond the physical. It never worked. He’s been friendzoned more times than he can count. Some very shallow girls might poke at him with a ten-foot pole when they found out his family had money. But he tired of that quickly (“if I wanted to pay someone for sex I could just hire a hooker,” he once snarked to Ivy after his friend exasperatedly asked  _ why _ he couldn’t have just gone to Homecoming with the girl who made it blatantly obvious that the only reason she liked him was because he had a convertible).

He went to the prom with Harley’s abusive ex’s slightly nicer twin brother, who ditched him for the only male cheerleader on the squad. Said cheerleader got offended and stuck up for Oswald and, well, that’s how Barry “Flash” Allen was inducted into their little gang. He’s nice, and cute, and for a hot minute Oswald had hopes. But while he never said  _ you’re sweet, but you look like the back end of a donkey and that’s on your good days, _ Flash sent the standard pointed verbal cues:  _ we’re such good FRIENDS. Glad to be your FRIEND. So cool that we’re FRIENDS after that disaster at prom. _

That one hurt long term. But Oswald is proud of how well he hid it. And no, it doesn’t sting like a motherfucker  _ at all _ to see the friend he crushed on snuggled up to a handsome, well-built young man with skin like Lindt chocolate and a smile that could stop wars. No, it does not. Doesn’t hardly make a man feel like crying at all, no sir.

Diana twirls Ivy under her arm, and the redhead looks absolutely starstruck. She twines her arms around the older girl’s neck and smiles dreamily, and Oswald has to fight the urge to gag (or cry). He turns his head away, only to land back on Flash and Vic who are now (someone murder him please) inches away from kissing. No. He doesn’t want to see that. 

But it’s like a trainwreck, he thinks bitterly, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of his friend-and-former-okay-still-a-little-bit-of-a-crush locking lips with the most unfairly attractive college footballer in human history. (Seriously, the guy is disgustingly hot, was he created in a lab or something?) Flash melts into his new date’s arms, eyes fluttering closed in bliss, and Oswald’s stomach hurts a little. What must it be like, he wonders as Vic’s hand comes up and tenderly cups the back of Flash’s neck, to be touched so sweetly, held as if you’re made of glass, to feel the softness of another’s mouth against your own?

He’s never been kissed. A couple of the bitchy mean girls in high school who liked him for his parents’ money half-heartedly blew him, but never bothered with kisses or foreplay. A kiss, he thinks, tears that he very firmly ignores gathering in the corners of his eyes. He’s never even crossed that tiny hurdle. Forget fairytale love, he’s so disgusting no one even wants to put their face within a foot of his.

For just a few hours this afternoon, while they were all getting ready and pre-gaming together, he  _ hoped. _ Let Harley goo up his too-thin hair with product in the hopes of making it look like he’s  _ not _ halfway to bald at 21, let the girls drag him to the mall for a last-minute mission to get him a new tie (something  _ “extra _ bitchin’” as Harley put it), even condescended to let Ivy brush powder and concealer over the worst of the pockmarks on his face. Almost let himself believe that he could be  _ good enough _ to get someone’s attention, just this once.

But it’s two hours into the formal now and so far, the best part has been dinner. Which is not at all out of the ordinary, honestly; usually food is the only part of any social gathering that Oswald doesn’t find lacking. That plate of chicken alfredo doesn’t care that he’s fat and ugly, after all. Food never judges. Food just is  _ there. _

(Coincidentally, his hiding spot is right near the dessert table. Everyone else is too busy socializing to notice just how many of those cute little petit fours and macarons he’s eaten, so. That’s a win, he supposes.)

Oswald looks down at his suit (which fits well enough but can’t hide his bulk) and almost cries at the sight of the salmon-colored rose Harley pinned to his lapel.  _ Total chick magnet, _ she told him with a grin.  _ And hottie gay boy magnet, too. Just be confident and you’ll slay em. _

Harley is sweet and she meant well, but she has that pretty-person problem of not understanding that a faked display of confidence can’t overcome the fact that no one wants you to approach them in the first place.

Oswald stands, yanks off the boutonniere, and crushes it under his heel, jamming his palms into his eyes to stop himself from crying. But when he looks up, right there directly in front of him is…an angel.

Okay, not an actual angel. With that secretive, mischievous smile, tousled fair hair, and sleek, glittering green suit, the boy looks more like a  _ fallen _ angel: sweet and deliciously tempting, but perhaps a little dangerous. But his eyes are trained directly on Oswald and he is moving with purpose, and Oswald poises himself to walk away, already expecting the guy’s opening line to not be  _ hey there handsome, _ but  _ could you get out of the way, I want some cookies. _

But the guy’s posture is friendly and open and he makes eye contact, warm and inviting, and he doesn’t seem like he’s gearing up to tell Oswald to get lost, and that alone makes his shriveled heart inflate, just a little. But before he can move in and close the distance between them, Oswald’s path is blocked by Bruce Wayne.

_ Damn it. _ Wayne is hot. Like, vampire in a romance novel kind of hot. And twice as rich as Oswald’s family. And a do-gooder who walks girls home from parties so they don’t get taken advantage of, volunteers at the local homeless shelter, and organizes Relay for Life every year. Oswald cannot even begin to hope to compete with that. He moodily grabs a delicately-iced flower-shaped cookie from the table and crunches into it, both for the soothing effect of the sweet taste and so he can have the satisfaction of destroying something pretty.

But to his surprise, the cute boy’s face drops when he sees Wayne in his path. Oswald doesn’t hear what Wayne says, but the cute boy’s reply carries nicely in his direction: “Like I told you the last four times, Brucie, I am  _ not interested.” _ Wayne mumbles something and the boy impatiently says, “I don’t care. I told you, you’re not my type. Now get out of my way please, I’m  _ trying _ to make a date here.”

Wayne skulks away, leaving Oswald standing there utterly astonished as the tall, slender boy glides over and holds out a hand. Did this boy, this actual fairytale prince, just blow off Bruce Wayne for  _ him? _ “Hiya,” the cute boy says with one of those deliciously dangerous grins. “You busy? ’Cause I need a dance partner.”

Too dazed to say no, Oswald lets himself be taken by the hand and led to the dance floor. A slow song begins to play and he starts to pull away, only for the pretty boy to laugh, a low-pitched sound that sets butterflies dancing through Oswald’s stomach, and inform him, “You’re not getting away that easy. C’mere.” He tugs Oswald in close, pressing both of Oswald’s meaty hands around his swanlike neck, and holds Oswald’s waist in an iron grip. “There we go. Closer, now…oh, come on, I won’t bite. There, that’s better.”

They sway quietly in each other’s arms for a few moments, and Oswald is still in shock because  _ this kind of thing does not happen to him. _ A sweet-faced pretty boy with the eyes of an angel and the smile of the devil does not just randomly ask him to dance.

His heart throbs against his ribcage. The boy is so delicate, so gentle, and he’s looking at Oswald exactly the way Ivy was staring at Diana earlier. His hands are warm, Oswald can feel the heat through his suit, and he smells like vanilla and spice and it’s not fair, it’s  _ not fair, _ how is Oswald supposed to think straight with a boy this perfect looking at him like  _ that? _

“What happened?” he finally asks, halfway through the song. “Did you…did you lose a bet, or…?”

The boy looks surprised. “What do you mean?”

“First of all, why me? No, wait, first tell me, did you really turn down Bruce Wayne  _ five times?” _

“Ugh.” The boy rolls his eyes, his cute, perfectly straight little nose wrinkling in distaste. “Yeah. Hate that asshole. Totally just wants to date a trans guy for street cred, you can smell the savior complex on him.”

Oswald nearly swallows his tongue. Not at the  _ date a trans guy _ part, he personally could give a shit about that, but at the fact that this angel just called the big man on campus an asshole like it’s  _ allowed. _ “You really don’t like him?”

“Wouldn’t fuck him if he were the last dumbass cis liberal on earth,” the boy replies calmly with a snarky, self-possessed little grin and that’s it, that’s  _ not fucking fair, _ he should come with a warning label if he’s going to be that cute. Oswald is going to need CPR if this keeps up. “Sorry if he’s a friend of yours, but I can’t stand guys like that. He thinks he’s so cool because he hands out toothbrushes and shaving cream at the homeless shelter, as if his family couldn’t single-handedly provide housing for every single homeless person in the city of New York and still have enough to buy another yacht afterwards.”

Oswald laughs in amazement, his heart flipping like Simone Biles in his chest. “Who  _ are _ you?” he breathes, amazed at this sudden, unexpected possibility of someone actually liking him.

“Edward Nygma.” The boy briefly draws back, and Oswald suddenly feels cold at the loss…only for warmth to flood him again as the back of his hand is brought to that sweet rosebud mouth and kissed tenderly. 

Oswald can’t help but let out an inelegant little snort of laughter. “Edward Nygma? E. Nygma? Your parents had a sense of humor, I see,” he chuckles.

Edward rolls his eyes again as he pulls Oswald back into his arms, as casually as if this  _ isn’t _ the most shocking thing to ever happen. “Nah, their last name is Nashton. I ditched it after they kicked me out. Fuck their WASP-y last name. Anyway, I know who you are already. You were in my folktales literature class sophomore year. I waited the whole time for you to ask me out but you never did.”

Oswald cannot believe this is happening. Because  _ things like this do not happen to him, _ not pudgy, short, pit-faced Oswald Cobblepot. Never. “Sorry?” he offers in a voice that sounds more like that of Mickey Mouse than his own.

“You’re forgiven,” Edward replies with a grin. “But only if you promise you won’t dance with anyone but me for the rest of the night.”

“Uhh. I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Oswald says with a shaky laugh. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly in high demand.”

“Their loss,” Edward says firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go the rest of the night.”

The song ends, and Oswald doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to see his dance partner end the joke and pull back, doesn’t want this fantasy to end. He starts to pull away, but Edward just gives him a knowing look, says, “Let’s get a drink,” and sweeps him back off to the refreshment tables, where he thrusts a solo cup of punch into Oswald’s hand and says, “I’m gonna talk and you just drink that and listen, okay?”

Well, okay. It’s not like he’s got anywhere else to be. Oswald takes a tiny sip of the powdered-mix fruit punch to show willing and offers up a polite smile and nod, and a look that he hopes doesn’t telegraph just how afraid he is that this is all a dream.

Edward claps his eyes firmly on Oswald’s and won’t let go. “Last year you were in my lit class. Sat on the other side of the lecture hall, in the back corner. But you talked, and I liked what you had to say, and then last semester during spring fling I saw you in the penguin costume and all I could think about the whole time was getting you alone and getting it off you.”

Oswald flushes bright red at the humiliating memory. Harley and Flash sweet-talked him into “helping out” at the spirit rally, which ended up looking like him stuffed into the bighead costume for the school mascot (a penguin, because his life isn’t pathetic enough) and getting swarmed by faculty members’ children all day. One of them just followed him the whole time screaming  _ it’s so fluffy! _ like the little girl in  _ Despicable Me. _ Meanwhile his hot friends bounced around the stadium in their teeny cheerleading costumes, as he sweated it out in a plush penguin suit and hated himself.

“How did you know it was me under there?” he demands, holding the cup against his face to try and ease the flush.

“Just the way you moved,” Edward says, as if it’s obvious. Then he frowns. “Look, I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and hate what you see, okay? So I can speak with some authority when I say that I think when you and me look at you, we’re seeing two different things.”

Oswald can’t stop staring at him, at this magical boy in the glittering suit, this odd little thing who doesn’t seem to care one whit that he’s talking to the ugliest guy on campus. “You like me,” he finally says, to clarify.

Edward reaches out and cups his chin with two fingers, making him keep his head up. “I like you a lot. I wasn’t kidding when I said I hoped for a long time that you’d ask me out. Thought maybe you knew about me, us being in the same class and all, but just didn’t want me. That kinda hurt, so I gave up for a while…wasn’t until I saw you sitting in the corner tonight looking like someone kicked your puppy that it clicked. You didn’t think you were too good for me. It was the other way around, wasn’t it?”

Oswald sighs heavily. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember us being in the same class. I kind of tend to keep to the shadows, so to speak. I’m only here tonight because my friends dragged me…but, no. Even if I had noticed you I never in a million years would’ve thought you’d say yes if I asked you out.”

“So if I ask you out, then,” Edward says patiently, as if he’s explaining the alphabet to an overexcited child, “would you finally get the hint?”

“I can’t really believe this is happening,” Oswald says without thinking, “so, probably not.”

Edward frowns again. “That’s not nice. And honestly, I’m a little hurt you didn’t notice me, I go out of my way to be noticeable.”

“Don’t take it personally, I tend to try not to look at cute people. No point in wishing for what you can’t have,” Oswald explains, “and if you knew my friends, trust me, you’d understand. I think I have the Guinness World Record for ‘number of times put in the friendzone.’”

“Well…fuck that shit,” Edward says decisively, and before Oswald can ask what he means by that, the taller boy has moved in for the kill.

One slender arm wraps around his waist, the other delicately cups the back of his head, and a luscious mouth has descended onto his. Edward kisses like he means business, like if they were alone Oswald would already be naked, and it’s messy and delicious and unbelievably intoxicating. The sounds of the terrible 80’s mix the DJ has been pushing all night fade into the background and all he can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as Edward’s tongue gently pries his lips apart and descends inside, and oh  _ God, _ it’s pure heaven. Oswald doesn’t really know  _ how _ to reciprocate, but he  _ wants to _ and after a few seconds of monkey-see-monkey-do he manages to figure it out.

Edward tastes like vanilla chapstick and crushed ice,  and all Oswald can think as he loses himself in that surprisingly strong embrace is that this was worth the 21-year wait.

When the kiss eventually does end, Oswald sways drunkenly on the spot and the spell is broken, just a little, when he hears Edward laugh. “Sorry,” he mutters, reaching out and gripping the edge of the table with the punch bowl so that Edward doesn’t have to steady him.

But the pretty boy doesn’t let go of him, looks at him like he’s something special, and says calmly, “So, birdie, did that feel like the friendzone to you?” Oswald shakes his head, too shocked by what’s happening here to do much else, and Edward gives him a dazzling smile. “Swell. Then we’ll go back to my room, and after I’m done totally rocking your world we can plan revenge on every asshole who’s ever hurt either one of us, sound good?”

Oswald lets out an amazed laugh as Edward, E. Nygma, his first kiss and his new favorite person, links their arms and leads him towards the door. “You know,” he says sincerely, “I never thought you’d ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter and Tumblr @CupcakeFoggy, I'm deep into Gradence and DC right now so if that's what you like, don't be shy -- come geek out with me! ^_^


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